The Oxygen Stealers

                            The Oxygen Stealers

          There are many times, during  in a long life, when a conversation between others is accidentally over heard. You are usually amazed at the level of discourse involved. It might be in a crowded elevator, or a busy grocery store checkout line. The most fascinating are usually in Taverns when the speakers are hammered to the gills. The subjects are the usual, casual, everyday chit chat. Someone’s aunt Cecelia was being a pain in the butt, because her neighbor had scalded her cat in a fit of pique. Somebody else’s husband was a bum in the park, because he came home drunk several times per week and threw up in the aggrieved person’s prize rose bushes. The topics are endless. And usually after a few minutes, you are able to tune out the chatters, thinking of issues of import, like when you were going to play Tennis again, or maybe where did you leave those checkered shorts from twenty years back?

          Most times, we are able to screen out the verbal diarrhea and proceed on our way. But, sometimes, you are caught and have to listen to the whole sorrier that scat rendition of some character’s latest examples of how not to lead a productive life. Today was one of those days. We were basking poolside, in the noon day sun, engrossed in a very good book by a favored author. Usually we have a set of head phones plugged in, to screen out the noise around us. Today, we had forgotten them. One rather non-descript person floated by on one of those plastic dildos that everyone likes to float on. He began a conversation with the couple who sat near us on the pool deck.

          The stream of unforgettable chatter, back and forth, is not worthy of repeating. It was a mindless recital of the value of good ketchup and other inanities, that these folks issued forth in a remarkable stream of consciousness that had us ready to run screaming down the path, hollering “stop,” “stop,” shut up,” “shut up!” Decorum prevented us from this normal reaction to such inane exchanges. Instead, I started muttering softly to my wife Mary. “These people are Oxygen stealers.” They are not worthy of the amount of fresh air it takes to keep them breathing! After a few times muttering this, each time more loudly than the last, Mary shushed me with a “shhhh, quiet, they will hear you.” Although I complied, I thought to myself that these folks had an I.Q. lower than a block of wood. If they in fact did hear me, they would never understand what I was saying or ever grasp the fact that it was their sorry selves that I was muttering about. Soon, we got up and left. I think it was during the discussion about what tastes better a slice of bread or a potato.

         Since that time, I have taken to using the term “Oxygen Stealers” for those worthy individuals who, through their awful conduct and boring conversations, appear to be not worthy of the amount of fresh air needed to keep them breathing. It is unchristian of me, I realize. But, c’mon. How stupid can stupid get before it ieither is or ought to be considered a crime?

                                             -30-

                                       (554 words)

                                    Joseph Xavier Martin